All My Clear-eyed Fish, Golden, Or Rainbow-sided,

There Is A Budding Morrow In Midnight.

The Creature Has A Purpose, And His Eyes Are Bright With It.

Through The Dancing Poppies Stole A Breeze, Most Softly Lulling To My Soul.

How Astonishingly Does The Chance Of Leaving The World Improve A Sense Of Its Natural Beauties Upon Us. Like Poor Falstaff, Although I Do Not 'babble,' I Think Of Green Fields; I Muse With The Greatest Affection On Every Flower I Have Know From My Infancy - Their Shapes And Colours Are As New To Me As If I Had Just Created Them With Superhuman Fancy.

A Man Should Have The Fine Point Of His Soul Taken Off To Become Fit For This World.